Cries in the Night: The Rune
Tempest Spire: Crest The staircase opens up into darkness, save for the light which filters in from star-shaped cut-outs in the ceiling. The chamber here is as wide as the inner ring at the spire's base but barren, save for some bits of foliage dragged in from the outdoors and a center mat pieced together by bits of animal hides - varying from leoporidae to snaplizard and even something akin to horse. On the mat are strewn bits of animal furs, claws, pebbles, leather strings, and a crudely-drawn map of the wildlands. A small wooden door leads to a precariously set of stairs along the outer wall of the spire and up to the peak platform of the edifice. From this vantage point, one can see far over the surrounding freehold and mesa and into the Verdigris Forest to the south, the Drakesreach Sierra and Drakespine Mountains to the north, the Jadesnake River to the west, the rolling plains to the east, and the shadows of lands beyond, as yet unnamed. From this vantage point, one can also take a nasty tumble if drawn too close to the edge by the view for lack of guard wall. It seems to have been smashed away some time ago, but by what is anybody's guess. ---- For nearly twenty-four hours the stairs leading into the Spire's height had been guarded and barred by a well-armored guardian of the Tempest. That twenty four hour period was reaching its end point. Many things had unfolded within the passing of sun and moon, some perceivable, some not. It is likely that the mournfully melodic incantations which haunted the depths of the Spire were heard, be it in sleep or waking. It is less likely, however, that the rabbit went noticed as an unseen force liberated it from its nightly grass nibbling below, vaulted it some stories into the air, and sailed it freely to the Spire's crest. A squeal might've been emitted, had the poor beast not been busy choking on said grass in its startled state. For those with Shadow's touch, the twenty-four hours may have passed a bit more darkly than those ignorant of such feelings and auras. The guard, for instance, standing so vigilantly at the base of the stairwell, did not bat a lash as the inky blackness between stones in the wall came to life, creeping and rippling along the walls. A sort of tremor stirred in the air, the skies above the Spire clouding by portent of Shadow's strength. And in the midst of it all, there was Tshepsi, hidden away from eyes unworthy and eyes she strove to protect. The Shadow doesss not bargain without price. The indoor chamber of the Spire's crest is thick with the smell of blood. The metallic taste hangs in the air while more condensed forms drip lazily from the hung carcass - strung up by its ears. The crimson patters down to flow between crevices drawn in the mountainous sketching on the map that lay upon the floor. Strewn about the map are bits of nature - shells, leaves, seeds, and bone. One piece of such bone lays in the hands of she who had sung the songs, she who had slain the rabbit, and she who had conversed with things darker than night while the moons fell and rose once more. Rocking and murmuring rhythmically within her protective coil of tail, Tshepsi scratches at the bone with a sharpened piece of another, finishing off the delicate etching with serpentine flourish. "Sssight," Tshepsi tells herself softly, a break in the arcane mutterings, and dips the bone fragment flatly down into the bloodied mountains, burying the etching into the scarlet pool. With great care, she lifts it again and stamps the excess over the beautiful calligraphy of Crown's Refuge. The finished product is held aloft, red smear glinting via candlelight. "Isss in my handsss, Eliare" The flame jerks violently about on its wick and she lowers the rune to the slender braid of ivory hair in her lap. It's with love that the Archmage threads the string through the eyelet drilled into the bone. A way to follow, by standing still. Taran just...watches. Stares, to be strictly honest, at the macabre theatricality of it all. Ask questions? Ah, no. One does not ask questions of an archmage who's dismembered a rabbit to make a compass, in case she decides something bigger could stand to lose a few bones. Unafraid, but quite definitely *wary*, the bard waits for instructions. "A price of blood..." Tshepsi breathes, taking up the sharper fragment she'd used as a chisel and nicking her finger with it. An indigo droplet runs forth and onto the rune, seeping into the crevices to blend with the sacrificial smear, sealing the sanctity of it all. A deal. "For the hungry..." Hissing in another breath, she ties the knot in the string and then rises from her work. Whatever had transpired that night and day had left her expression listless, eyes deadened, and spirit very much drained. "Take thisss..." She finally addresses the singer whom she'd summoned. "And my eyesss may follow. Lossse thisss...and you are lossst." A trembling hand extends it outward to him. "Know you the making of Runesss of direction?" Taran accepts the rune with care, looking around at the....work. "I think I know *a* way of making them, Lady," he answers carefully. "Then do ssso," Tshepsi advises, eyeing the rabbit sadly. Bowing her head to it, she offers explanation to the grisly display. "It wasss hungry, the dream...A deep hunger, asss one who risssesss from eternal sssleep. I offered blood in hopesss that it doesss not ssseek yoursss." A tear wells up, delicately balanced on a lower lash as she looks apologetically to the rabbit. "I did not wisssh death. But the hunger made it ssso." Taran blinks. "I am sorry, Lady," he says slowly. "The dream? Hunger? I do not understand. But I can make the rune of direction...it is the only other rune I know how to make." In demonstration, the bard sets his hand against what's left of the rabbit. No chanting, no sacrifice...well, unless one counts time and concentration. But when he removes his hand, a small shining mark is on the carcass. He looks down at it with a vague sort of frown. "I think...that is correct?" "Yesss..." Tshepsi nods to the rabbit, then turns her eyes all together away from it as though in shame. She abandons the bloody map on the floor and slithers over to the doorway that leads out and up so that she may look at the moon. "Sssinger. The Ssshadow whissspers many thingsss in sssleep. The name Eliare...it was connected to the hunger. Perhaps it isss the thing you ssseek. A hunger of the waking one..." Her brows furrow, face screwed with concentration while head shakes in self-disappointment. "No. Not waking. Renewal. A new waking - a new birth. A change." Taran frowns. "I have heard that name before," he says, thinking. "I'm...almost certain." He looks distinctly worried about it. "Ah...were...spiders involved, at all?" "Thessse three thingsss - Eliare and the hunger. The new dawn, rebirth. You mussst take them with you on your journey. Remember them...may they offer you anssswers. It isss all I have been ssshown. What I have sssensed thusss far. And I offer it to you." Tshepsi says with a bit more vigor, her eyes widening in their urgency as she turns from the window and back to him. "I sssaw no form. Only a name. Eliare," she speaks it again, as a purr of reverence for the beauty of its sound. "Know you thisss ssspirit?" Taran lets out a bemused breath. "One can hope, Lady, but to the wandering fool they are only words," he admits. "But the name...I am not certain, but I think I have heard that name before. A creature of shadow ...may have called someone I know by that name. If I am remembering it correctly." "No one knowsss your memory better than yourssself," Tshepsi quips, slithering back so she may 'stand' by him. "And ssso it isss obligated to ssserve you bessst. But before you go, tell me more of thisss creature?" She encircles him once, body reared higher for a moment as her tail rapidly curls beneath her and stacks itself into a resting place. Taran purses his lips. "I think I will do one thing better," he says. "But - assuming I am not entirely misremembering a brief conversation of well over a month ago - a lord of Fastheld was called by such a name. And then gifted with a circlet and robe with a decidedly arachnid motif to them, made with Shadow somehow. He said at the time that he knows nothing of the name and would like to know more. Assuming he was not lying, which is actually more than likely, I could perhaps persuade him to come here and speak with you?" “Lordsss and Ladiesss bloodsss of Fassstheld Children are not welcome through the aria...it would be a long journey for him to travel on foot. But yesss," Tshepsi nods solemnly, "Ssshadow sssuroundsss that name. It runsss thick with hunger. It may help for me to ssspeak with him...to learn more." "If he was not lying, mistress, and if I am not misremembering," Taran nods. "But if it interests him...I think it will not take him *too* long." He tilts his head, listening. "I am summoned...and I think I should pass the request on to feet that will deliver it. With your permission, Lady?" "You may go." Swallowing a pang of something bitter, Tshepsi seems to have remembered her earned frailty and reaches to touch Taran lightly on the arm. "Pray, Sssinger. To the Light. For usss all." From below, Bloodstone enters about half-way looking back outside. "You sure this is where his scent led to?" he asks something or someone outside. Theres no reply, so the hooded Hunter, looks back towards inside. Taran bows. "It seems much more than a damsel is in distress," he notes. "But somehow...that does not surprise me. Light keep you, Lady." "And you the sssame," blesses a creature of Shadow. The irony could kill. As Taran descends the staircase to the base of the Spire, towards the newly arrived voice, Tshepsi watches with bleary eyes and trembling chin. The hunger had made her do it. The summoning of the poor rabbit. Shadow demanded death and so shadow took it, in favor for her request. Every dream came with a price. Hesitantly, Tshepsi follows his wake, slithering without hurry to the first set of stairs and then down. She could not stay another night in thiss place. Not this night, at least. It was cold, of the soul kind. ---- Tempest Spire: Outer Ring As intimidating yet beautiful as its name suggests, Tempest Spire tests the eye's strength with a strenuous squint into the lofty heavens with its height. The interior of the base is fairly vast itself and divided into two pillar-partitioned chambers - an inner and outer. The stone of walls and floor is radiantly pure, a snowy white marble inset with slender, gold veins which, if studied closely, seem to all creep towards the center of the Inner Ring. Upon entry into the Spire, one has four choices: to turn and go hence from which they came, turn to left and pace the dark pillar-lined corridors, turn right and mount the black marble staircase which spirals up into the abyss, or step forward into the illusory shining light of the inner ring. The latter option will bear you through four black marble pillars, two on either side, and into the mist-veiled glory of the Inner Ring. The Outer Ring is lit by gold sconces on the wall, each designed to look like human hands. Eventually, this ring leads to the opposite side of the entrance (north) where a small alcove has been dug into the marble. In this alcove, measuring roughtly five feet in height, a white marble statue of a dragon stands, surrounded by stout candles in obsidian sconces. ---- "Taran?" Blood asks, watching the bard pass. The grizzled Hunter pauses in the doorway, not quite sure what to make of that. Though once his mind wraps around the concept that he's in the presence of the Archmage, the hooded man drops to kneel and lowering his head. "My apologies, Lady Archmage. I did not mean to intrude. Was looking for a colleague of mine, though he seems to of just left." Tshepsi collects herself into a series of coils before the man's bow, looking down with a mixture of feelings. Was she worthy of such a gesture? Time would tell. Looking to her pricked finger, she musters a few syllables. "He goesss...are you to journey with him?" Closing her eyes, she ignores the swirling of vision and manages to remain upright. Being raised on old-fashioned concepts, firstly always being respectfull those who lead. He rises back up to his height and nod. "Indeed I am, Lady Archmage. I will help guide those few into the wilds of the north. Have been told a woman is in danger, how could I not offer up my assistance? That, and I owe Taran for help he has given me in the past." "If the ssshadow ssspoke correctly, there liesss great hunger to the north," Tshepsi warns softly. "The woman wasss probably taken to satiate. There may be nothing left...but it would be wissse to learn more of the creature which hasss taken her. Sssinger wearsss now a rune of my blood to track hisss sssteps. If he ssshould fall, it will passs to you." Bowing her horns with a graceful sweep of her head, she adds "Sssuccumb not to luresss the ssshadow will tempt you with. My ssspirit troublesss with questionsss unanssswered that I cannot give to Sssinger or to you. He will tell you of the three thingsss - three thingsss you mussst be wary of." "I had suspected as much." Blood notes softly, shaking his head. "That she was a something to feed upon. Dragons are not fools, this much I do know. It would have to of already foreseen that someone would come looking for her. The Shadow has no control over me, I have no urge nor need for magicks, Lady Archmage, it is not my calling." he says before nodding. "But only a food would say such things and truly belive it without a doubt. I will heed your words and be ever mindful. Mother Nature will guide my steps, for I live in her realm and no others. And I will make sure that I ask Taran of the three things you speak of." "Of nature and ssshadow, thingsss are entwined very closssely..." Tshepsi murmurs, nodding her head to herself then slowly unravels her tail so that it may begin to creep tip-first towards the door. "Do not lossse sssight of the line which blursss them. Light keep." Resting a hand over her gut, Tshepsi retreats more swiftly now, meandering slowly at first out the door but then picking up speed as she takes her first breath of cool, clean air. Bloodstone nods one more time, then backing towards the door slowly. "Be well, Lady Archmage." he says softly, the Hunter more humble than usual as he steps outside and back to his companion. Return to Season 6 (2007) Category:Logs